Hi, guys! So I'm currently working on the next chapter of Beginning Again, but this idea came to me as I was writing one of my summer assignments on the book October Sky by Homer J. Hickam Junior. I actually wrote the first couple sentences for the paper, and kept them there; but then the Maltara fanfiction part of my brain was like, "Hey, that sounds like a nice opener for a cute little one-shot!" So that's what it became. It's a bit of a drabble, and all of this kind of came out in less than an hour; but I hope you like it all the same!

This is in Mal's point of view, which I almost never write in (just because I can identify with Natara more), but I really wanted this to be describing Natara.

Anyways... Let me know what you think, maybe? Enjoy! c:

A person's eyes can say a lot about them. They can speak the truth when their lips are lying, and they can tell a story without any help from words. They're just small, simple, colored orbs, but they're the window to a person's soul. If you look closely enough, you can see a person's honest thoughts and feelings. Some people, like her, have nearly mastered the art of completely closing that window; they can turn off the lights and shut the blinds, very effectively blocking others out.

That is what I first noticed when I met her. She stood up from her prior spot beside the pale corpse of a dead, red-haired girl, and her eyes met mine for the first time. Behind the tough, guarded layer of hazel, lay a thoroughly-locked chamber of everything that would secretly tear her apart. Although I couldn't tell what exactly those cryptic secrets were at that moment in time, I know them now. As she ever-so-slowly and cautiously began to let me in, the tightly-shut shades began to open, if only a little at a time. It took nearly a year for her to fully open them for me to see inside. As I slowly entered, she retreated back into the shadows. As I began to learn her secrets—her past mistakes, her biggest regrets, her darkest fears—she shrank back to where she felt safe. It took months of gentle coaxing to get her to come out again; but once she did, her shimmering brown eyes shone a little brighter.

I noticed it then, and I continue to notice it now. She has the prettiest eyes I've ever seen. She thinks they're boring, but I wish she could see through the same light I do when I look at them— at her. Even without the minimal mascara and eyeliner she usually wears, she is absolutely beautiful. Everything about her makes my heart race: the way her silky, brown hair blows gently in the breeze; the dazzling smile that spreads across her face when she's happy; the way she unintentionally moves her hips when she walks. I love her contagious laugh and her subtle sense of humor; I love her work ethic, and I love watching her out on the field. I even love how scary-smart she is; what, with all the freaky mind powers and all.

While I absolutely adore all of those things—her hair, her smile, her laugh, her personality, her humor—her eyes are what really drew me towards her. Something about the mystery in her eyes on that first day we met really drew me in. I didn't know why, but I knew it was more than her good looks that made me want to get to know her more.

Over the years, I have grown to adore not only those sparkling brown eyes, but also their beautiful owner. Day-after-day and case-after-case, I've gotten the privilege to work—and, after a while, sleep—side-by-side with her. Whenever her shining orbs meet mine— whether it be on the job, in a work-related conversation, or just exchanging light-hearted banter—my heart skips a beat. I've seen her eyes light up in pure joy when she's with those she loves; I've seen her eyes fill with salty tears that she tries so hard not to shed. I've watched as she blinks hard and looks away, eventually succeeding at holding off the waterworks, but I've also seen her give in to her emotions, breaking down in tears and sobbing, her cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. I've looked on as fire burns within those dark depths as her usually-calm demeanor slides to anger, her eyes narrowing slightly into a glare. I've seen that anger directed at suspects, at co-workers, and at me; but I've also seen that anger fade away, later replaced by apologies to myself and fellow detectives.

All of these things flash through my mind as I stand at the front of a church with a crowd of friends, family, and other loved ones in front of me. I am dressed in a black tux and tie, a white lily corsage pinned to the pocket of my suit. The years we've shared together are all I can think about until the doors in the back open, and she begins to walk out, her father at her side. As they walk arm-in-arm down the aisle, her gaze meets mine, and her beautiful brown eyes light up in joy as a dazzling smile spreads across her perfect face. I find myself smiling back, unable to contain my happiness. Her snow-white dress trails behind her as she makes her way down the aisle, holding a bouquet of white lilies against her stomach. Her father and I exchange a warm smile as he leads her to the podium. She hands the bouquet to her sister, her maid of honor. Her father squeezes her hand, and she walks up the few steps to the stage, joining me in front of the preacher.

Although I can hear the vows being read off in the background, all I can see is her. As we join hands in acceptance of "stepping into the circle of holy matrimony", the entire room, the entire world, has been reduced down to just her and I. She stares into my eyes and I stare into hers; our gazes lock, and our lips form into broad smiles.

I hear my vows coming to an and, and I say, "I do," at the appropriate time.

"I do," I hear her echo quietly, after prompt from the minister.

Then, after the priest's spiel on the history of the rings' symbolism, she slides the gold wedding band onto my left ring-finger, then repeats after the minister.

"With this ring," she quotes softly, "I pledge my love and faithfulness to you, today, tomorrow, and always."

After being prompted to do likewise, I slide the sparkling diamond ring on her left ring-finger and reiterate the sentence.

"With this ring," I repeat, "I pledge my love and faithfulness to you, today, tomorrow, and always."

With that said, the preacher pronounces us man and wife. Now, the part I've personally been waiting for: kissing the bride.

I lean down slightly and she tilts her head up. She loosely wraps her arms around my neck, and I wrap mine around her slim waist. Our lips collide, and we are lost in a deep, passionate kiss. The only thing I can think of at this moment is how her lips feel against mine, and how purely happy I am right now.

As we pull away, I distantly hear the congregation as it erupts into applause; I even make out a few cat-calls from a certain fanfic-writing lab technician.

Our eyes meet again, and I am, once again, lost in her brown orbs. She stares back up at me, my own joy mirroring in her gaze, a smile lighting up her pretty face.

All I can think about is how lucky I am that she's mine.

It took several years, but now she's my wife.

Special Agent Natara Williams of the FBI no longer holds that surname.

Now, Special Agent Natara Fallon of the FBI, is my beautiful wife.